A cold spell is upon us. This morning is -23 celcius with the wind chill. In this weather I feel anxious about going out of doors with the boys. I fear they will feel cold or become frost bitten. Nevertheless, we bundled up and braved the cold to walk the older beastie to his morning at daycare (a whole three blocks away). And it wasn't as scary as I had imagined. There was the work of getting each little boy into his layers upon layers and finally into a snowsuit, which neither was happy about. But in the end, the air was refreshing and I was glad to have got out of the house, even briefly.
Now the wee-est one is napping, and I've made myself a lovely strong cup of coffe with piles of foam on top. I have thick socks and my moccasin slippers on. I have a sweater wrapped around me and I am curled up on the couch.
I love this season. The days shortening, the weather growing colder. The slowing down. This season of bundling up and keeping cozy. Of slow cooked stews and rich red wine. Of heavy blankets and soft pillows. Of introversion and introspection. Of frosty windows and crunchy snow. Of seeing my breath when I step outside, and nestling deeper into my wooden scarf. Of evenings spent knitting and mending. Of afternoon naps in messy beds. Of taking time, conserving energy. Of hot water bottles and hot cups of Love tea. Of writing letters and reading books. Of vinyl records scratching away into the night. And of resting in front of my sister's fire place, the heat on my face and the scent of burning wood on the air.
